


jealousy & fraternity.

by DictionaryWrites



Series: DashingFrost Week 2018 (25th July - 1st June.) [4]
Category: Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Biting, Complicated Relationships, Dirty Talk, Happy Ending, Humor, Incest Kink, M/M, No Incest, Oral Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Rough Sex, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Tension, Shapeshifting, Trans Character, Unrequited Lust, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism, it's just complicated, well it's requited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 15:43:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15076397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: The tension has been building between Fandral & Loki for years on end - of course Thor would be jealous. It's just a shame, for him, that Loki is all Fandral's.Feat. dirty talk about Thor's fertility.





	jealousy & fraternity.

**Author's Note:**

> "Dashingfrost prompt- Loki and fandral fuck but one of them knows thor is secretly watching, and that person makes it a point to rub it in his face and make a show out of it"
> 
> I got maybe a little carried away here. 
> 
> Check out [Dashingfrost Week here](https://fuckyeahdashingfrost.tumblr.com/post/174693891923/dashingfrost-week-2018)!
> 
> Please note that this while there's dirty talk about Thorki and some unrequited stuff, this isn't a Thorki fic: it's a DashingFrost fic.

In all likelihood, Fandral has known for longer than Thor has.

He sees it the first time, when he and Loki are boys wrestling in the arena – the youngest of their band, each of them on the cusp of manhood, and when Fandral trips Loki and sends him sprawling shirtless in the dirt, landing on his back and dragging a hand through his hair, _pinning_ him in place…

He can feel himself in his breeches, half-hard against the small of Loki’s back, and he can feel the way Loki stiffens, drawing in a heady gasp before twisting his neck with inhuman agility out of Fandral’s hold. He catches Fandral’s legs out from underneath him, and Fandral cries out as he falls back into the sand, feeling it stick onto the shining mess of his naked skin – Loki, of course, hasn’t broken a sweat. He never does.

Loki straddles Fandral on his back in the sand, his wrists pinned above his head, and Fandral _groans_ at his loss, a little too playfully. Behind Loki at the edge of the sand circle, Thor clears his throat, irritable at Fandral and Loki taking too much time in the arena. Loki ignores him entirely, leaning in a little so that he can look right at Fandral’s face, and the spread of his light robe hides the way he subtly grinds his hips against Fandral’s own, making Fandral want to choke on his own breath.

Loki doesn’t look, but Fandral does: he sees the sudden rage in Thor’s eyes, a storm brewing over that sea of blue, more than anger at his brother for not taking their sparring seriously, more than anger at Fandral for desiring a member of Thor’s family. There is _possession_ there.

It leaves Fandral with a bad taste in his mouth, uncertain and unsure, and he taps out his loss of the point.

❀ ❀ ❀

The tension grows between them slowly, piece by piece.

Loki will always be the first to take Fandral on when they’re sparring together, with fists or knives or spears or swords; Loki will whisper things in Fandral’s ear – normal things, casual things, things that don’t need to be whispered, with his breath hot against Fandral’s skin; Loki’s fingers will linger as he passes Fandral in the halls, touching over his shoulder, his hips—

Fandral cannot stand it.

It takes _years_. Years!

Loki’s affections will wax and wane – sometimes, it is as if he cannot stand the sight of Fandral, as if he finds him disgusting, unbearable: he ridicules every facet of his person, tells Fandral he has likely never pleased a woman, that he might be handsome if he would only shut his mouth. Other times, Loki disappears for months – once, for over a year – on end, and Fandral finds he and Thor are the only ones amidst their band to miss his company.

Then Loki returns, like he had just this week, as if he had never been anywhere. He returns right back to his teasing, as if he hasn’t been gone for _months on end_ , as if Fandral hasn’t ached for the loss of him, as if he doesn’t think Fandral cares.

Fandral loses it one night in the hall the Royal Library, and he shoves Loki back against a wall. Immediately, Loki’s sultry-but-innocent act fades away like the morning mist, and his eyes widen, his lips parting.

“You would have me kiss you?” Fandral demands. “Is that it?”

“If you wish to,” Loki says softly, as if he can’t believe Fandral _would_. It’s a strange thing to say, and Fandral is frozen. Could it truly be, he wonders, that Loki doesn’t _believe_ Fandral wants him? What, he thinks Fandral’s irritation is based in some prejudice toward the argr, and not based out of desire?

Fandral crushes their lips together, feeling Loki’s shock and surprise before Loki kisses him back, hungrily devouring his mouth. Loki’s hands are knotted in Fandral’s hair, his fingernails digging gloriously against Fandral’s scalp, and his mouth is so hot, his tongue so wet, Fandral is _dying_ with it.

“ _Loki!”_ snaps a voice from up the corridor, and they wrench apart from each other so quickly that Fandral stumbles and nearly knocks over a standing vase; Loki drops back against the wall, breathing heavily, his lips open and bruised with kisses as he turns to look at Thor. Thor looks _furious_ , and he glares at Fandral, glares at him—

Yes. Yes, it’s undeniable this time, the way his eyes roam over Loki’s body, his open blouse, his flushing cheeks. He _desires_ his brother, and— Loki’s expression is tortured. Fandral sees desire in his eyes too, desperate, frenzied desire, and then he rips his gaze away. It is not to be considered, not to be considered, the depth of Thor’s desire for Loki, and worse, Loki’s own reciprocation…

“Walk with me, won’t you?” he asks, his tone quavering slightly, and Fandral is nodding before he can see Thor’s furious expression.

The two of them move down the corridor, and Fandral leaves Loki at the door of his quarters.

❀ ❀ ❀

Fandral, later that night, climbs the ivy that clings tight to the wall outside Loki’s bedroom. The palace walls are high indeed, but Fandral has climbed higher to reach some maiden’s room in Alfheim, and he comes to Loki’s balcony, easing himself over and clutching the bouquet of red roses in the crook of his arm.

He opens the door with a flourish, and Loki jumps on the bed, clutching his book to his chest—

Then grins.

“You filthy rake,” he says, with evident delight, and he comes to his feet, slipping closer. As Fandral slips the door closed, he holds out the bouquet, and Loki throws it aside, immediately winding his arms around Fandral’s neck and kissing him soundly. He stops, clutching at Fandral’s cheeks. “Are you a virgin?”

“Where is the shy, _blushing_ boy I was liaising with this morn?” Fandral asks, sliding his hands onto Loki’s hips. “No, of course not. Yourself?”

“No,” Loki echoes. “Of course not.” There’s a momentary touch of something in his face, a distance Fandral isn’t unfamiliar with – he’s seen that look when Loki has lied about one thing or other, when he has said he is _fine_ when he is not. It is the least favourite of the lies Fandral hears him tell, and yet it is among the most oft-told, if not _the_ most oft-told.

“I wouldn’t deprive you of your virtue,” Fandral says quietly, and Loki laughs.

“I have no virtue left,” he says, darkly, and he bites his way into Fandral’s mouth. Fandral groans against his lips, and he digs his fingers against Loki’s thighs, feeling the generous curve of his arse, sliding his leg between Loki’s and feeling the way he _bucks_. “I’m not—” Loki hesitates, breathing heavily against Fandral’s mouth. “I’m not built like you are.”

“What do you mean?” Fandral asks, but then there is a knock at the door, and Fandral sweeps across the room, sliding immediately beneath a tall wardrobe. He barely fits beneath it, his arse and shoulders a little too broad to do so in the way he could before he began putting on more muscle in the past decade or so, but—

T’is fine. He is out of sight. A board creaks underneath him, the sound sharp and high-pitched, and Fandral wrinkles his nose.

He hears Loki step toward the door, hears it open on the hinge.

“I’m not going to have this conversation with you again,” he hears Loki say.

“But, Loki—”

“ _No_.” Fandral hears Thor sigh. “It’s— It’s unthinkable. _Unspeakable_.” Oh, _oh_ , so this is what they would discuss – they have spoken on the matter before, of this incestuous connection. And Loki has refused Thor before.

“And yet I wish to speak,” Thor says quietly. “Were it to be so wrong, so truly wrong in the eyes of the Norns, do you believe our feelings would be reciprocal?”

“It is not the eyes of the _Norns_ I worry over,” Loki replies. “I will not give into such a _base_ inclination, even in secrecy.”

“You would give up your heart’s desire, then?” Thor asks softly.

“You have a low estimation of my heart’s desire,” Loki snaps. “We are _brothers_ , and brothers we shall be. I will not sacrifice the bond we have in favour of mindless rutting.” Thor scoffs, quietly, and his response is scathing.

“No matter how much you desire me?”

“I desire solitude,” Loki retorts, and Fandral hears the door click shut. Slowly, he slides out from beneath the dresser, making a face at the way his hip _clicks_ against the tile, and he sees Loki in the doorway, gripping at his own elbows with uncertainty. He looks at Fandral with a distant fear in his eyes, and says, “You wish to depart?”

“Depart to whence?” Fandral asks. “Your bed seems well enough to me.” Loki’s brow furrows slightly.

“You— Are you quite deaf? Have you not just heard the conversation that there transpired between my brother and I?”

“I heard.”

“And you could not comprehend?”

“I comprehended.”

“You already _knew_?”

“I knew a little.”

“And you do not depart?”

“Most certainly not.”

“You aren’t disgusted?” Fandral shrugs his shoulders.

“Not yet.” Loki steps a little closer, and Fandral reaches for him, setting his hands gently on Loki’s shoulders. “Loki, it’s… I know not. Perhaps there is something wrong about it, that the two of you desire one another, despite the fraternal bond, but— You resist it. A _thought_ is hardly a misdoing in itself.” Fandral has had a great many thoughts about a great many people, most of them neatly set aside – he is something of a master of perversion, he likes to think, even if his area of expertise has never strayed to this arena.

“You’ve never desired your brothers, though,” Loki mutters.

“Well, no,” Fandral agrees. “But in their defence, they are each quite ugly.” Shocked from his melancholy, Loki gives a nervous laugh, and he lets Fandral draw him into another kiss, lets Fandral gently tongue into his mouth, _moans_ when Fandral drags his teeth over Loki’s thin, lower lip. “Come, let me… I’ll lay you down on the bed, on your belly. Let me massage the stress from these aching shoulders.”

“Seems strange foreplay,” Loki says, an edge of distrust in his tone.

“It needn’t be foreplay,” Fandral replies with ease. “It can’t be affection? We might even postpone the – what did you call it? – _mindless rutting_ for another night entirely.” The distrust cracks, and instead, Fandral sees _disbelief_ , sees uncertainty shining in Loki’s lovely blue eyes.

“Affection,” he repeats. “You— You want affection?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Not from me.”

“Well, here I am. Your first customer.” Loki stares at Fandral, his lips parting, and then he nods his head hurriedly, nodding his assent to a question Fandral asked _minutes_ ago, as if he is terrified Fandral will retract his offer, and Fandral slowly drags him toward the bed, unbuttoning the green blouse he is wearing for bed and setting it aside. Loki is luminescently pale. Fandral gently drags his fingers down the middle of Loki’s sternum, feeling how hard the bone is, seeing the difference between his own sun-kissed, rosy fingers and Loki’s marble-white flesh. Norns, he looks like a _statue_.

“On your belly, then,” Fandral murmurs, and Loki very slowly moves to obey, sliding down on his chest across the silk sheets. Fandral is very careful about moving to straddle his lower back, sitting back on the fat curve of Loki’s arse ( _and, Norns, Fandral is excited to bury himself in it)_ and slowly dragging his fingers up the length of Loki’s back. Loki is as stiff as a board, and Fandral wonders if he’s ever had this done to him before – he would assume not, judging by the way Loki _trembles_ slightly. Fandral digs his thumbs in either side of Loki’s spide, pressing up toward the back of his neck, and then he begins to massage into the tense muscle of Loki’s shoulders, feeling the stiff flesh give way under Fandral’s grip. Loki moans quietly, and Fandral begins to move his thumbs in slow, easy circles against him, turning the knotted muscles slowly to butter.

Fandral doesn’t know for how long he straddles Loki’s back, slowly sectioning the panels of Loki into pieces, his spine, his shoulders, his lower back, his ribs… Loki turns to putty beneath his attentions, languid and utterly relaxed, and Fandral doesn’t think he’s ever seen Loki so close to _liquid_ , whining and groaning, and it’s glorious.

This is better than fighting him in the arena, better than seeing Loki’s little flinches and gasps and grunts – this is glorious. Fandral wishes he’d done this a hundred years ago, wishes he’d been the first man to touch Loki at all, wishes he could have been _everything_ …

Fandral strokes his palms over the expanse of Loki’s back, loose and easy, and Loki sighs.

“Good?” Fandral asks quietly. Loki nods. “See? Affection comes with its positives.” Loki laughs shakily, and Fandral kicks off his boots, dragging off his jerkin and sliding into bed beside him. Loki’s a little bit cold in comparison to Fandral himself, but Fandral doesn’t mind: he draws Loki on his side, so that Fandral can mould his warm chest against Loki’s back and wrap his arm around his hip. He presses a slow kiss against Loki’s neck, against the crook of his shoulder, and Loki grunts, pressing back against him.

“Are you going to have me?” Loki asks quietly.

Fandral slides his hand lower, cupping Loki through his sleep trousers and grinding his heel against Loki’s cock, which feels positively _tiny_ — Loki moans from low in his throat, thrusting up and into the touch, and Fandral chuckles before setting his hand once more on Loki’s belly. “Not tonight,” Fandral answers, and Loki groans aloud.

❀ ❀ ❀

It’s Fandral’s turn to tease, now.

Sometimes, he’ll catch Loki in a corridor, drag him into an alcove and layering kisses all over the sensitive flesh of his neck, moving to suck a mark into the skin and never quite doing it. He kisses and bites until Loki is whimpering, grinding desperately against Fandral’s thigh—

And then Fandral walks away.

Sometimes, he’ll lean back slightly when they are sat across from one another at a table in a tavern, and he’ll set the sole of his boot between Loki’s legs, so that the heel rests against Loki’s crotch. Loki will stiffen, but his expression will remain otherwise neutral, even as Fandral slowly grinds his heel against it.

And then, Fandral will stop.

“I’m not… the same as you,” Loki whispers when, after thirty minutes of complaining about the whole ordeal to the others, the two of them are settled in their shared room in the tavern. Thor had even tried to get Hogun to share with Loki instead, and Hogun had downright refused; Loki had refused to room with Thor, and thus… Here they are. It’s been a few months of teasing, a few months of grinding in corridors and kissing too hard, a few months of ignoring Thor’s furious looks when he catches a glimpse of Fandral in the palace

“No,” Fandral agrees, pushing Loki slowly back onto the bed. “You are a _god_. Beautiful, desirable, endlessly attractive…” Loki grunts as he drops back onto his arse, and then he shakes his head.

“No, that’s not what I meant—” Loki’s hands catch Fandral’s wrists as they go to the lacing of his breeches, and he bites down hard on his lip. “I’m not the _same_ as you,” he repeats, changing the emphasis this time, and he bites down on his lower lip. “I’m not—” He stops, and then he swallows hard, glancing down between his own legs.

“Why don’t you let me see?” Fandral asks softly, his voice very gentle. “Would that be alright?”

Loki nods shakily, and Fandral carefully unlaces his breeches, and sees Loki’s cock, _tiny_ and half-hard – it barely looks like more than a clitoris, in honesty, and Fandral unlaces the rest, drawing the trousers apart so that he can see…

“Oh,” Fandral says softly. Loki is entirely hairless – he doesn’t grow a hair at all beneath his nose, Fandral is entirely aware – and Fandral can see the fat mound of his cunt, the way his cock comes away from it. Two inches or so now, and it’ll be three when fully hard… Fandral drags his tongue wetly over his index and middle finger, and then he reaches out, tracing either side of the darkly pink, wrinkled lips. No sac, not that Fandral can see, but his cock _is_ a cock, the head defined and a little separate from the shaft, tapered at its end… “Beautiful,” Fandral whispers.

“Don’t mock me,” Loki whispers.

“I’m not mocking you,” Fandral says, and sucks Loki’s cock into his mouth. Loki groans, arching on the bed and grinding up into his mouth, and Fandral wraps his hands around Loki’s thighs, squeezing at the flesh there as he laves his tongue over the sensitive nub. Most Æsir, their skin tastes of salt; Ljósálfr taste slightly sweet, as if their very skin is honeyed; Loki tastes _sharp,_ and citrusy. Fandral sucks down _hard_ , humming around the little length, and then he leans down further, sloppily dragging his tongue around Loki’s entrance, where it’s beginning to grow wet and open, the little hole clenching and _winking_ at him.

Loki might not be a virgin, but this is plainly his first time with this particular attention, and Fandral delights in the way he squirms and writhes under the touch, coming to pieces. Loki is biting down on the side of his fist to keep from wailing out loud, the motion muffling his moans, and Fandral buries his face soundly in Loki’s quim.

His beard tickles and drags against the sensitive skin, and Loki tightens his thighs, trapping Fandral between their heavy, muscular weight, and Fandral groans against Loki’s cunt, thrusting his tongue within him. Taking up a handful of Loki’s mound, he pulls it _taut_ , dragging it up and pressing Loki’s cock tight to the pubic bone, and Loki _groans_.

“Clench,” Fandral says.

“Cl—”

“ _Do it_.” Loki clenches, his muscles working, and then he _shudders_. Fandral grins at the way his little cock jerks, a little wet at its head, and he lets the skin go, beginning to gently massage the fatty tissue and feel the blood flow down. “Goodness, Loki, you’re a work of art.” He laps at Loki’s entrance, playing over the flesh of his lips, and Loki’s hips jerk uncontrollably. His juices glisten in the dim light from the candle, and Fandral drags his fingers through it, feeling it slick and thick upon his fingers… “You want fingers?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Loki says immediately, and Fandral chuckles, slipping two fingers slowly inside him and rhythmically pressing down as he flicks his tongue over Loki’s cock.

Loki is coming to pieces. His thighs twitch and jerk, his fingers clenching tight around Fandral’s fingers, and Fandral adores it, adores feeling Loki come apart just like this, enjoys his desperate, fervent pleasure… Loki’s eyes are tightly closed, and he keeps biting at the side of his own fist – he’d be babbling utter nonsense if he could afford to make any noise, and Fandral mouths over him, sliding a third finger inside and _scissoring_.

Loki shatters.

His orgasm is filthy and wet over Fandral’s fingers and in his mouth – there’s that acidic tang against, like lemons concentrated to a _sting_ , and Fandral groans as he tastes it upon his tongue, feels Loki’s cunt quiver around his thrusting fingers— Loki flops back limp upon the bed, breathing heavily and looking at Fandral through hazy eyes, his jaw slack.

Fandral, very deliberately, drags his tongue over his fingers, licking them clean, and Loki groans.

“You’re dastardly,” he says.

“ _Dashing_ , darling,” Fandral says. “I prefer _dashing_.” Loki laughs softly, even where he lies back languid and boneless on the bed. Fandral presses a kiss to his thigh. “Go to sleep.”

❀ ❀ ❀

He ought have known fleeing a dragon on horseback would be a mistake. 

Fandral’s horse is dead, and Fandral has horrific burns marking him up his side – as much as Loki can assuage _some_ of them, there is a hard limit to his healing abilities. Once they get home Fandral is going to have so spend some time in the Soul Forge so that Eir can heal him properly, but he is aware that one day – likely one day soon – Loki will surpass her in healing ability.

He grunts as Loki sets him up on the front of Sida’s saddle, and then climbs up onto the mare’s back, gently pulling Fandral back to lean against his chest, to keep the pressure off of Fandral’s own. Fandral is dressed in very loose, light robes, and Loki radiates seiðr that plays over his skin, soothing is gently with a sort of anaesthetic effect, and Fandral grunts as he presses against Loki’s back.

“I can take him,” Thor suggests.

Loki shakes his head.

“Sida isn’t as big a horse as Mjeif,” Thor says, and Fandral stares blearily at his jealous eyes. Lowering his voice, he mutters, “This is no time for the two of you to _flaunt_ your—” There is genuine concern on his face, Fandral can see that – it isn’t merely jealousy, but worry of the two of them being discovered, being _seen_.

“I’m not flaunting anything,” Loki says. “Thor, he’s in _pain_ – you have no magic to soothe it, and you are too rough in your handling.”

“I do like soft handling,” Fandral mumbles, and he hears Loki tut loudly against the back of his ear.

“Shut up,” he orders, and hazily, Fandral obeys. The pain is a distant consideration – he knows that it’s there, but he doesn’t really feel it, and on the ride back he feels himself loll in and out of waking, his face pressed back against Loki’s neck, safely ensconced between Loki’s upper arms. He feels Sida’s regular trot beneath them, and he feels himself fall asleep, drifting off. When he comes awake in the infirmary, his robes open and his side a mess of burn ointment and tingling magic, Thor and Loki are just a few inches to his left.

“Did you have to do that?” Thor is hissing softly.

“Carry him? Yes. He was unconscious, and unable to walk.”

“You carried him into the palace like a _bride_.”

“If I had slung him over my shoulder, Thor, it would have put too much pressure on his chest. You are blinded by jealousy, and you are seeing affection where there are only pragmatics.” Fandral turns his head slightly to look at them, and immediately, Loki comes forward. Reaching out with his seiðr, it tingles over his cheeks, and Fandral’s eyes flutter closed for a moment at the sensation. “Look at me, Fandral. Follow my finger, would you?” Fandral looks at Loki’s slender index finger, and he follows it to the left and then to the right, up and then down. He can feel his eyes twitching, feel the movement a little difficult, and he sighs as Loki’s fingers brush his cheek. “I’m going to get Eir.”

Loki moves away, and Thor stares down at Fandral, pressing his lips tightly together.

“How do you feel?” he asks, lowly.

“Burnt,” Fandral mumbles. “And dizzy… Couldn’t follow his finger properly.”

“You’ll be alright,” Thor assures him quietly, his voice warm despite the brittle, jealous edge to it, and he brings a glass to Fandral’s mouth, letting him take a drink. The water is cool on his tongue, and Fandral mumbles a vague thanks.

“You’re not angry? Just jealous?” Fandral mumbles the question, staring at Thor with defocused eyes. Thor grunts, not answering one way or the other, and Fandral is grateful when Eir comes back.

❀ ❀ ❀

Fandral winds his arms around Loki’s neck, pressing his face right into the crook of his shoulder, and Loki chuckles softly, playing fingers over the expanse of Fandral’s back. He’s spent a _week_ in the infirmary, regrowing his skin piece by piece, and he’ll be damned if he sleeps in his own bed tonight – no, he’ll sleep in Loki’s bed, bodies pressed together.

He presses a kiss to the side of Loki’s jaw, and Loki gently pushes him back onto the bed, ghosting his breath over Fandral’s chest, where the new skin is raw, and sensitive.

They don’t fuck that night.

Loki opens him up with slow, easy fingers, and he swallows Fandral down his throat like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and Fandral feels like he will _drown_ in Loki Odinson. He sleeps sprawled across Loki’s chest like a blanket, soothed into dreams by the slow, rhythmic beat of his heart.

❀ ❀ ❀

“You know he only does it to make me jealous,” Thor mutters. Fandral puts his hands in his pockets, and they watch as Loki climbs Hogun like he’s nothing but a tree, swinging over his shoulders and sending the Vanir sprawling in the dirt. He kicks hard against Hogun’s cheek before he can stand, and he stands over him with his foot on Hogun’s neck.

“Yield,” he growls.

“I yield,” Hogun mutters, and Loki _beams_ , drawing the other man to his feet. Hogun stands still as Loki pushes seiðr from his palm, healing the ugly bruise before it can bloom on his cheek.

“Is that what you think?” Fandral asks mildly. “You think what Loki and _I_ have is actually about you? Curious.”

“Loki and I are… Inevitable,” Thor says quietly. “Our bond is deeper than yours ever could be.”

“Too deep, I think,” Fandral says. “He wants a lover _and_ a brother – separately. He has no desire inhabit the both at once.” Thor clenches his fists at his sides, gritting his teeth, and they watch as Sif and Loki go head to head. There is none of Loki’s acrobatic playfulness here – neither of them likes the other and it shows.

“And have you fucked him yet?” Thor asks, snidely. Fandral inhales quietly, pressing his lips tightly together, and Thor chuckles. _Arrogant_ – he’s just as arrogant as Fandral himself, at times, if not much worse. “I thought so.”

❀ ❀ ❀

“Are you using me?” Fandral asks softly, later that night, when Loki and Fandral both clamber into Loki’s bedroom via the balcony, all the better to evade the palace guard, and to have further time alone.

“For your body,” Loki confirms. “And your knowledge of poetry – it’s just so much more convenient than the average almanac.” Fandral laughs, and he takes a slow sip of Loki’s wine, tasting the dry, oaky red upon his tongue. In his chest, there remains a tangled knot of anxiety.

“Thor seems to think you’re only using me to make him jealous.” Loki frowns, his head tilting slightly to the side, and then he shakes his head. There’s a creak behind Loki, and Fandral’s gaze goes immediately to the big wardrobe, and he sees the shift of a boot beneath the wardrobe before it slips out of sight. Thor must have been waiting for Loki, for a more private conversation… _Oops_.

“No. I don’t… Thor is under the belief that there must be some sort of _destiny_ about us. But if we did that, we wouldn’t be _brothers_ anymore, and I can’t stand the thought of losing him. Just for sex.” Loki cups Fandral’s cheeks, slowly, gently. “I’m not _using_ you. He’d be jealous no matter what I did – I don’t want to swear myself to celibacy. I love him: he’s my brother. _Just_ my brother.”

“Do you ever think about it?” Fandral asks softly, beginning to unlace Loki’s blouse.

“Think about what?” Loki asks, and Fandral pushes Loki’s shirt from his body, lifting it up and over his head. He moves to cup Loki’s pectoral muscles, playing his thumbs over his nipples, and Loki sighs.

“You ever think about Thor?” Fandral asks, and his hands slide to unlace Loki’s breeches. “Ever… Fantasise?”

“No,” Loki mutters. There’s a slight pink flush in his cheeks, and Fandral’s mouth goes dry.

“Oh, you _do_ ,” Fandral purrs, and he pushes him back onto the bed with a quick shove, grabbing at the waistband of his breeches and dragging them down his thighs. “How do you imagine it, Loki? Thor losing his temper with you, devouring your quim with aplomb, and leaving a burn from his beard all around your thighs?” Loki groans, his hips tilting up as Fandral cups hard at his cunt, letting Loki thrust his little cock against Fandral’s palm. “Or maybe in the field, driving into you from behind, your face pressed into the dirt—” Loki closes his eyes tightly, and he whimpers as he thrusts up and into Fandral’s hand.

“But I _wouldn’t_.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Fandral murmurs, and he slides a finger into Loki’s cunt, making Loki _arch_. “But it’s just a fantasy. You can think about it. Talk about it. Enjoy the _thought_ of it.” Fandral glances down to the shadow beneath the armoire, and he feels a glorious spite within him. “And in _reality_ … You have me.” The idea of Thor right there, hearing their coupling, when he had been so arrogant earlier – yes, Fandral delights in it. He has made cuckolds of many men, but this is different, this is _his_. There is no secrecy here, except by Thor himself.

“I want you,” Loki says immediately, and he spreads his thighs wide. “Norns, I’ve been so _eager_ for you to finally—” Fandral takes Loki’s cock between a spit-wet thumb and forefinger, and he plays with the length of it, feels it jolt between his fingers.

“I’d love to fuck you while he watches,” Fandral whispers against Loki’s mouth, and Loki whimpers, his head tipping back against the pillow, his back arching. “Show him precisely who you belong to, _destiny_ aside. Wouldn’t you like that? I bet he’d never ask again if he saw you come apart on my cock.”

“Bold words,” Loki breathes out, and he grinds himself down onto Fandral’s finger. “I don’t know that your cock could affect me to falter, let alone _come apart_.”

“You know, my prince,” Fandral purrs, sliding two more fingers inside him at once, and Loki chokes out a little noise as he’s filled to the brim, “If you want me to take you roughly, you can just _ask_. You needn’t be so provocative.”

“I don’t _need_ to be,” Loki says, voice husky and low. “But I confess, I rather enjoy it. Come, I don’t wish only for your fingers—” Fandral laughs, and he leans in, kisses Loki bruisingly hard, feels Loki press against Fandral’s hand, feels him _clench_. And Thor is right there, _right there_ , mere feet away, and Fandral is going to fuck Loki until he _wails_.

Dragging his fingers back, he unlaces his breeches, lining himself up. He isn’t the biggest man out there, but there’s a pleasant curve to his prick, and it’s nice and _thick_ , which is the important thing. As Fandral nudges against his entrance, teasing, _teasing_ , prodding against his lips and feeling Loki’s wetness on him, he sees Loki whimper.

“Wanted to build up to this, did you?” Fandral asks softly. “Wanted to tease yourself?” Loki is breathing heavily, and he bites down on his lower lip, worrying the flesh there. “Have a contraceptive spell in place?”

“Always,” Loki whispers.

“All the more reason not to let Thor liaise with you, I expect,” Fandral murmurs, leaning in and catching his lips over Loki’s mouth, kissing him deeply even as the head of his cock _teases_. “All that fertility magic about him – he could easily cut right through your contraceptive spells, hmm?” Loki whimpers, and Fandral laughs against his throat, dragging his teeth over his skin. “It is rather appealing, isn’t it? Such… _virility_. I’m certain he’s never lain with a woman and not left her swollen with his seed.”

Loki shudders, and he nods his head, nods it—

“Oh, so it isn’t morality after all,” Fandral says, chuckling against his collarbone. Norns, this must be driving Thor _wild_ , and Fandral can’t help but take the smallest amount of glee in it. “You’re just frightened he’d catch in you.”

“That’s not it,” Loki protests immediately. His cheeks are brightly pink now, his lips parted and shiny with sweat, and Norns, _Norns_ , he looks a pretty picture. “I don’t _want_ him – I want you.” Fandral feels his heart beat faster in his chest, and he _aches_ , and he _loves_.

“You’ve got me,” Fandral promises, and he sinks his cock inside. Loki _yowls_ , locking his thighs tightly around Fandral’s own and trying to pull him deeper, and Fandral bites down hard on the juncture between Loki’s neck and his shoulder – it’s not usually his style, to leave a mark like this, to dig his teeth right into the skin, but Loki squirms like it’s the greatest thing he’s ever felt, and it drives Fandral _wild_. “You’ve got me: you don’t need him.”

Fandral sets a slow, easy pace, sinking inside Loki again and again and again, and Loki _shudders_ , exhaling shakily and putting one hand tight against Fandral’s hip, the other one knotting in his hair. There’s a wonderful glow to him, a genuine excitement that radiates from him, and Fandral feels— _Privileged_.

Loki’s so beautiful, spread out beneath him, all his, a _prince_ , a god, a work of art, a _genius_ in his own right—

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever known,” Fandral whispers, and Loki lets out a choked little noise, clenching tight around him.

“Harder,” he demands, and who is Fandral to disobey, when given his orders by a prince of Asgard? He drives into Loki, until he can feel his sac smack against the pucker of Loki’s arse, and Loki is _groaning_ , leaning up and biting into Fandral’s mouth, savaging his lips and making Fandral gasp against his tongue. Loki’s fingernails are digging into his scalp and the side of his shoulder, just the wonderful side of _too rough_ , and Fandral’s ears are full to the brim with the sound of Loki’s moans, and the slick slap of skin on skin. Thor is well and truly forgotten now, and Fandral can only focus on hungrily taking in every element of Loki beneath him, every beautiful _facet_ of his form.

He puts his hand between them, squeezing tight hold of Loki’s cock and feeling Loki _convulse_ , heaving in desperate little breaths as Fandral fucks him hard enough that he might just _bruise_ , and he sees the exact moment Loki comes.

He sees it in Loki’s face, the way his nose wrinkles and his mouth opens wide, the way the most _shuddering_ little whimper comes right from the back of his throat, and then he is moaning low in his throat as Fandral fucks him through it, letting him ride it out.

Fandral comes slippery and hot within him, and he can hear Loki’s soft sigh at the sensation, tightening the grip of his thighs to keep Fandral from pulling out just yet. Loki is breathing heavily, and he clutches at Fandral like he might drown without Fandral’s body against his. There’s something in his expression, something desperately focused, and he says softly, “I want to… Thor’s been doing a correspondence course – his degree.”

“Yeah,” Fandral says.

“I want to go abroad for mine,” Loki says, reaching up and dragging a few strands of hair out of his face. “There’s a school of magic on Vin, a university… I thought I’d do a degree in magic. You know, I can take a handful of credits at the mundane school, in, ah… Economics, politics, whatever I would need for Asgard’s sake.”

“Right,” Fandral says, not really following where this is going. “How long would you be gone for?”

“Well, the degree would be six years,” Loki says mildly, tracing a line through the almost-not-there dusting of hair on Fandral’s chest. “And that’s without my pursuing something further, a furtherance of my academic study.”

“Six years,” Fandral repeats. “That’s— That’s a long time.” Loki’s cunt is hot around Fandral’s softening cock, and it’s… It’s distracting, to say the least.

“Yes,” Loki says, “but you know, I’m— I’m a prince.”

“I’ve noticed.” Loki is staring at Fandral like he’s waiting for some unknown penny to drop, and he blinks a few times, a mild irritation showing.

“Well, on a _foreign world_ ,” Loki says, spreading his hands over Fandral’s chest, “with only my magic to protect me, I’d… I’d need a guard. And, well, in lieu of a salary, I’m sure the royal coffers might be convinced to pay for his own degree, should he wish to pursue one, and, uh, allow my stipend to extend to him as well…” Loki trails off, and Fandral stares at him, feeling heat in his cheeks, in his chest—

“You’re not serious,” Fandral whispers. “You’re suggesting that I, that we run away together? Whilst you pursue a degree in magic?” Loki’s face falls.

“I didn’t mean to _presume_ , it was only a—”

“Loki,” Fandral says, and he clutches at the sides of Loki’s cheeks, “I would love to.” He kisses Loki hard, delights in the way Loki laughs softly against his mouth, _relief_ showing in his form… Norns. _Norns_.

Fandral doesn’t even know where Vin is, but his heart is already soaring in his chest.

“Fandral,” Loki says, “I sort of— If I might stand, I rather desperately need to—”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Fandral says, and he slips away, letting Loki stand from the bed and move to the restroom. Fandral can see the shine of his own spend on the inside of Loki’s thighs, and he feels his mouth dry out, his spent cock giving a vague twitch at the sight. The door clicks shut, and Fandral looks to the armoire. “You should probably get out,” he advises. “Balcony’s free.”

With a quiet creak of a floorboard, Thor slides out from beneath the armoire, rolling his shoulders, and he looks at Fandral for a long few seconds, even as he pushes the balcony door open. There’s hurt on his face, hurt and jealousy and—

Understanding.

“He loves you,” Fandral says softly. “Just not like that.”

“I know,” Thor says, rubbing his palm over his mouth. “I know.” And then he slips with his hammer from the balcony. Dragging his own blouse off his head, Fandral pushes the balcony doors open wider, letting a little more fresh air into the room. The sky outside is positively beautiful, a dark blanket of shining stars, and Fandral sighs softly.

He _loves_ Asgard, would die for her in a heartbeat, but to be on a completely foreign planet, to see Loki studying magic—

“Fandral,” Loki says, and Fandral turns.

Loki, completely nude, leans against the door frame of his bathroom, is… Fandral takes in the round, pale breasts, and then the _cock_ – not Loki’s usual cock, small and pretty, a perfect mouthful, but a thick length that hangs down against his thigh.

“Shapeshifter,” Fandral whispers, and he drops clumsily from the bed to his knees on the floor, bowing his head against the black-painted nails of Loki’s feet and making him laugh. “I am not _worthy_.”

“Come to the bath,” Loki says through his amusement, and Fandral goes _eagerly_.

❀ ❀ ❀

“To study magic,” Father says, his expression tight, and Loki gives him a warm smile, doing his best to be as pleasant as possible Mother, of course, he has already convinced – Father is… Trickier.

“With a degree… My skills would be vastly expanded. Not only would I be more skilled in the use of magic, in the power I can wield personally, but I would be much better set out to perform great feats of magic – extended. I could weave new wards around this entire _realm_ , around the city of Asgard itself. While I appreciate that the people of Asgard are uncertain of seiðr, it would only be a waste of my potential to leave myself without further tutelage, now that I have surpassed much of your own skill, or yours, Mother.”

“He’s right,” Thor says. Loki glances to him in surprise, his eyes widening slightly. “But… Vin is hundreds of thousands of lightyears away, and even with the power of the Bifrost, you would be some way off. I think it would be irresponsible to send you alone.” Loki stiffens, his eyes widening.

“ _Irresponsible?”_ he hisses.

“Loki,” Mother says softly.

“I mean no disrespect… Merely that to see a prince of Asgard, alone on a far-removed planet, it could paint a target upon your back. You ought have somebody with you – and not one of the Einherjar, either. Somebody your age, who would appear as a friend to your peers, but could be introduced as a guard at formal events.”

 _Somebody your age_ , he says. _A peer_. How did he—

“That’s— While I resent your worrying as to my _safety_ , as if I cannot look after myself,” Loki says slowly. “I cannot deny your logic is sound. What of Fandral, then?”

“Fandral,” Father repeats, looking thoughtful. “He is reasonably respected – and a noble boy, even if he is the second son of a second son. I don’t know that he could take a salary for such a thing, however.”

“Then, why not pay for his tuition?” Thor suggests. “There are other universities on the planet of Vin, particularly in the capital city… He might study literature or something similar, to keep him occupied whilst Loki is focused upon his own classes.” Loki feels his heart beat a little faster in his chest, and under the table, he grabs at Thor’s hand, squeezing it once – tightly – before drawing his own back. It doesn’t matter how Thor knows. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, it only matters that he’s _helping_ , that he _cares_.

“And I would worry less, personally,” Mother murmurs, her expression more knowing than Loki would like. “Knowing you aren’t completely alone on a foreign planet. What do you think, Odin?”

“Loki and Fandral,” Father says slowly. “It is decided.”

Loki could _cry_.

He doesn’t.

He merely hugs Thor so tightly, later on, that he threatens to crush his bones – and then goes for a walk in the orchard, beside Fandral, the two of them quite alone together. The universe itself awaits them.  

**Author's Note:**

> Please, no Thor bashing in the comments. 
> 
> [Hit me up](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com/faq). Requests always open.


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